My Brother's Keeper
by destyshell
Summary: Setting: Roswell's "Destiny" & Buffy's "Lie to Me" Summary: Max's mother, the exiled queen of Antar, sets him on a most urgent and dangerous journey. With Liz by his side, they enter a world of vampires and demons, to save a brother Max had never known.
1. Chapter 1

Hold me, hold me  
Breathe the light into me  
Hold me, hold me  
Mother dawn  
Mother dawn

Dancing 'round the fire  
Circling the flame  
Listen to the shadows calling out my name

They say  
Rock me like a baby  
Cradle me in the light  
Bathe me in a rainbow  
Sun restore my sight

Hold me, hold me  
Breathe the light into me  
Hold me, hold me  
Mother dawn

Look into the light

Come and take a journey through the land of night  
Darkness strokes the face and  
Steals away the sight  
Night is all around me  
Stars are in my hair  
I feel them tangled in the secrets we'll  
find hidden there  
Reaching through the madness  
To the other side  
Where the sun is rising  
With her arms held wide

Hold me, hold me  
Breathe the light into me  
Hold me, hold me  
Mother dawn

One star flew against the tapestry of the night  
And the earth revolved in perfect symmetry  
To a symphony of sun  
The moon danced its final bow  
As the birth of day  
Exploded  
In my eyes

Reaching through the madness  
To the other side  
Where the sun is rising  
With her arms held wide

Rock me like a baby  
Cradle me in light  
You're gonna bathe me in a rainbow  
And the sun restore my sight

Hold me, hold me  
Breathe the light into me  
Hold me, hold me  
Mother dawn… -Billy Idol

My Brother's Keeper

Ch 1 

"Maxwell…my son…," the misty blue image of a beautiful woman with golden hair stretched out her ethereal hand to her reclaimed child, still reeling from all he had recently endured at the hands of the special unit. Warmth seemed to radiate from the queen mother's glowing form even as the light from the orbs glistened in crystalline azure.

"Mother?" came the shaky reply from Max, eyes glazing with tears at the overwhelming revelation. Liz clutched his trembling hand to help steady his already weakened body. Max's lifelong quest, to discover his origins was finally coming to fruition, and his tortured frame nearly buckled at the release.

A knowing smile and simple nod was given in response before turning to the others, standing amazed in the primitive podchamber.

"My beautiful Isabel…," the queen mother regarded her daughter who instinctively carried herself with regal poise. A range of emotions played over the normally stoic face—joy…wonder…relief in at last seeing the yearned-for image of her mother, mixed with a modicum of guilt, fearing that the happiness she felt in this moment was somehow a betrayal of the mother whom she had known since she had left this very place.

"My brother's son…Michael…ever the warrior," the queen softly acknowledged, having witnessed glimpses of her nephew's recent struggle with the death of Agent Pierce. Michael could only look on in confusion at his aunt's greeting though some part of him inwardly smiled at the familial bond.

"And your mates," the queen gave a broad smile to each human in turn. "Elizabeth…so intelligent…seeking…brave."

Liz blushed, smiling gratefully at the complement. Max, somewhat restored, pulled Liz to his body, wrapping his arms low around her waist as she leaned back against his chest.

"Alexander…undaunted…disarming…just the young man to melt the heart of our ice princess," the queen teased her daughter good-naturedly while with a playful swagger, Alex pulled an astounded Isabel Evans close to his side.

"Maria…though guarded at first…you have proven yourself so fiercely loyal and protective…the perfect complement to our Michael. Michael turned and kissed Maria's forehead that leaned on his shoulder as his hand drew soothing circles on her back.

"How do you know about us…and our friends?" the normally secretive Max inquired, his paranoia forgivable considering his recent experiences at the hands of a secret government agency.

The image of his mother grinned in response. "Just as you can transmit images and memories to each other; the communication orbs and the granolith, housed beyond the pod chamber, help communicate your images and feelings back to me. The closer the three are together, as they are now, the more fluid the communication. Also, the closer you are to this place, the more effectively those tools work," the queen mother explained.

"Um…you know about the…* flashes* we send each other?" Max stammered, his ears reddening at the thought of facing his and Liz's parents earlier that spring in the principal's office after a noisy round of "research" in the eraser room.

The image of the queen mother flickered briefly as she chuckled. "Max, you all are growing up…I tend to disregard anything that seems… too 'private' in nature," his mother intimated with a sly smile. "New places, people…high emotion…happiness…pain," the queen looked at her son in compassion for his recent trials and pride for his enduring strength. "These are the 'flashes,' as you say, that are the most easily transmitted. Until today, that communication was merely one-way. I am so glad to finally be able to speak to you."

"But…who are we? Our names…what are they?" Isabel spoke up, a little taken aback at the familiarity. "Where exactly are we from? Why did you send us to Earth?" the questions that had never before had an answer came spilling out, one on top of another.

The queen looked to her daughter with sad, sympathetic eyes. "Your lives on Antar were so far removed from those you've lived in your time…that I've always thought of you by your Earthly names, the ones I first heard the Evans call you soon after you left this chamber. While you have always known you were different, your lives have been shaped by those who love you. Your learning, your experiences have largely been Earthly ones. To me you are Max, Isabel, and Michael," the queen smiled at each in turn before the longing in her eyes spoke of her pain.

"The people you were before lived…and died on Antar." An uncomfortable shudder went round the cave, anxious eyes cutting from one to another in apprehension over finally hearing the story of their origins.

"Your father was betrayed by his most trusted adviser, Khivar, who thought that your deaths would destroy the monarchy," the painful memories plagued the poor mother who had seen her children cut down before her eyes. "Unfortunately, he was very nearly right. Your father and I live in exile. My brother and his wife were lost shortly after your essences were salvaged and sent to Earth," the queen turned to her nephew in grief-stricken sympathy. Michael nodded solemnly in acknowledgement as Maria held him closely.

"Your 'protector,' Nasedo, was sent with you, but he grew restless and neglected his duty, deciding that he could leave the pod chamber to explore the region and return later when it was time to bring the pods out of stasis. However, once he left, he discovered he could not re-enter without one of the Royal Four to open the barrier."

Confused, panicked looks shot quickly around the room at the queen's words, as they had never considered that their group could be incomplete.

"Four? Mother, what do you mean by 'four'?" Max queried in baffled astonishment. He unconsciously stepped toward the image of his mother, as if moving closer might somehow gain him clarity.

The queen's gaze locked with her thoughtful son as she explained, "Of course, Isabel…Michael…you, Maxwell… and the *other* prince of Antar…your twin brother."

***

The queen's countenance again clouded with grief, the joy at finally speaking with her family overshadowed by the tragic tale she needed to tell. "We sent you to Earth for your safety, hoping that the great time and distance away from Khivar's rebellion would provide you some protection and allow you the opportunity to reach adulthood, far from our enemies' hands.

"Although Nasedo was supposed to bring your pods out of stasis many years ago, his departure meant that the pods would not activate until the fail-safe mechanism engaged, beginning your rebirth. This process required several years due to the nature of the pods, but it was during the final year that your unique powers and ability to rapidly heal were developed.

About a year before the three of you left the podchamber, a small earthquake occurred, and your brother's pod was damaged. The casing gave way, and your brother was born, though far too early," the queen looked up to an unknown sky wishing that she could have protected her missing child.

"Where is he? Do you know his name?" Max scrambled for any other questions that might help them find their missing brother. "Has the Special Unit found him, too?"

The queen smiled patiently, understanding her young son's panic. "Unfortunately, he is so far from the Granolith, that I haven't received any clear images from him since he first left the podchamber," the queen sighed heavily in her frustration. "I do know that when he first departed, he went toward your setting sun. He must have been rescued soon thereafter because the images grew fewer and fainter very quickly," their mother's eyes glazed with tears as she continued. "All I could sense as of late are extreme emotions and sensations."

"Mother," Isabel interjected, remembering with sickening clarity Max's recent torture that she witnessed during her dreamwalk, trying desperately to locate her missing sibling, "What have you felt? Our brother, what is happening to him?"

"For many years, he seemed happy…confident…a little reckless sometimes, much like the young man I remembered on Antar," the queen remarked with a wistful irony, "but lately, pain…sickness…despair…that's all that he has known," the tears that coursed over the queen's cheeks glittered in ethereal blue.

"If we can find him, maybe Max can heal him. He healed Liz…and Kyle…they would have died from those gunshot wounds," Michael urged bluntly, recalling the events that forced the three aliens to trust an increasing number of human beings with their secret.

"Yes, Max was particularly brave and quick-witted that day at the restaurant. And saving the sheriff's son showed great faith and selflessness. I was very proud of you, son."

Max nodded humbly, his hand instinctively covering Liz's stomach, where the silver handprint had lain so many months before.

"I do believe that Max could heal his brother…if he can be found quickly. Are your powers restored, my son? You, yourself, have suffered so much lately. Am I asking too much of you?"

"In a few days, my strength should return, I believe," Max assured.

"That is good news," the queen's smile seemed restored at Max's progress. "Unfortunately, I have no name or location to help you in your search. The only advantage you have is that you should recognize him on sight," the queen grinned at the prospect of her twins finally meeting face-to-face. "My best advice would be to look in the west. I'm sorry I cannot help you with more."

"What about us returning to Antar? Is there a possibility that we could come home?" Michael asked, not noticing how Maria stiffened in his arms at the question. The young blonde tried to be understanding-- as Michael had no real home on Earth, it was understandable that he would seek one elsewhere, though that knowledge didn't soothe the sting of his excitement.

"Michael, I am sorry that your time on Earth has been so difficult—that was never our intention when we sent you there. Please try to find solace in the friends who love you so strongly. They will help to ease your journey, wherever fate may guide you.

"That being said…it has always been my hope to see the Royal Four restored, and that one day I might be able to see you once again, hold you in my arms, meet those you've chosen," the queen smiled knowingly at the three humans, "Watch my grandchildren grow," she sighed hopefully at the thought. "I have also dreamed of your return and the defeat of our enemies—to see you once again take your place in the kingdom," the mother's gaze fell on each of her children in turn, "To lead our forces against the tyranny of Khivar," she looked pointedly at Michael whose dark eyes shone with a steely resolve, the instinct to defeat his enemy inherent, regardless of the world where he found himself.

"However, the Royal Four must be intact for the Granolith to make the initial return journey home. This was a security precaution designed to help prevent our enemies from splitting up your group and using you as pawns in their traitorous plans. We could not have the power of the Granolith fall into the wrong hands," the queen mother explained.

"After the first journey, the security precautions would disengage, and you could travel back and forth between worlds…bring your mates with you…"

"You mean we could survive on Antar?" Maria inquired incredulously, astounded at the prospect of visiting another galaxy.

"Just as our Antarians survive on Earth, the same is true for the three of you on Antar. If the Granolith operates according to its design, you would also be able to return to Earth whenever you wished," the queen assured, trying to soothe the worries etched on the young faces.

An air of cautious speculation swam about the room—while the prospect of seeing Antar and their family was thrilling, so many Herculean tasks had to be accomplished beforehand that there was no sense in raising their hopes too high. The prospect of trying to raise an army, defeat a powerful dictator, and restore the monarchy of a planet was more than a little daunting for the group of teenagers to consider.

"Please don't be discouraged," the queen begged, afraid that her family was feeling bombarded with overwhelming expectations. "I'm just so overjoyed at finally seeing you here…just to know that you're loved… and safe," the queen looked upon Max with such sorrow at being unable to protect him during his horrible ordeal. "I know I've given you a nearly impossible task, but, please, Max, try to find your brother…he needs you…."

"I will do everything in my power, Mother," Max promised, giving a slight, solemn bow to the now-flickering image.

The queen glanced cautiously at an unseen warning, "I must go, but, please return again at the rise of your new moon and tell me of your progress," the queen encouraged, then looked at Max, Isabel and Michael in turn.

The queen knew that although her children were very nearly grown, their first memories—of being alone...naked…frightened, still plagued them. Fears of abandonment and exposure ran deep within the three, creating walls nearly impenetrable except by the humans holding them closely. Even though their upcoming quest was beyond the scope of most adults, the children inside them still longed for assurance.

"I want you to know that you have always been loved and have always been wanted…."

Tears filled the eyes of everyone in the room, so many dark questions finally answered.

"And I am so grateful for all those on Earth who love you as well," the queen looked from each human back to Max and Isabel, indicating her gratitude towards Philip and Diane Evans, and the silent understanding that the love that she felt for them did not mean they had to love the Evans any less.

Isabel and Max nodded in understanding, their expressions pained as the fading blue image grew ever more transparent, till only a thin, pleading whisper could be heard--

"Go and find your brother…his heart is growing dark…you must hurry…"


	2. Chapter 2

The five nervous but hopeful faces peered searchingly from behind Alex's computer chair, waiting for the flickering screen to produce the answers they were seeking.

" I did a search for any reports of lost, found or missing children for the year prior to your…adoption," Alex smiled nervously at Isabel, confident in his success at avoiding the term "hatched."

"I concentrated primarily on this region, figuring that a five-year-old couldn't wander too far before…," Alex shrugged and nodded, not wanting to verbalize the obvious.

"What'd ya find, Whitman?" Michael gruffed, not needing to be placated. He remembered exactly what wandering the desert as a young child was like.

"After cross-referencing dates with significant seismic activity…eliminating girls, custody-dispute cases, and kids found wandering in the toy aisle at Wal-Mart," Alex listed wryly, "I thought this lead might get us somewhere," Alex expelled a breath, hoping the information he had discovered might prove fruitful.

"There's a sheriff's report, dated May 1988, from Lincoln County. It states that a 'William T. Fordham and his wife, *Shirley*," Alex reported, "found a small boy, of approximately four or five years, wandering along highway 380 at dusk on May 5th. The child was alone, unclothed, and seemed too frightened to respond to questions posed to him in English or Spanish."

The three Antarians glanced nervously at each other, grimacing at how the fourth alien's experience seemed to mirror their own.

"The officer's notes also state that after clothing the boy in one of her husband's work shirts and offering him the remainder of the hamburger and onion rings she'd had for dinner, the child clung to Mrs. Fordham frantically, unwilling to let the nurses at the local clinic do more than take his temperature," Alex continued as his friends studied the screen intently.

"The report continues, stating that the department of child welfare arrived at the sheriff's station and verified that the Fordham's were already approved as foster parents by the state, having cared for Mr. Fordham's teenage nephew some years before," Alex glanced around behind him to gauge his friends' reactions. "Mr. Fordham was gainfully employed by Triton Demolition in Alamogordo while Shirley was a homemaker, so seeing as there was an approved family with a secure incomewilling to care for the boy, he was released into their custody."

"Any follow-up notes?" Max inquired, leaning in.

Clicking to another screen, Alex searched for any further comments from the investigating officer.

"It says that the young boy didn't match any current missing person's report, and no such reports were presented in the subsequent year. The case was closed by the approval of an adoption petition presented in the Otero County Courts in September of 1989."

Alex grimaced as his next search was stymied, "Those records are sealed, but I'd say there was a better than good chance that the Fordham's adopted him, seeing how attached he was to Mrs. Fordham," Alex looked back to his friends in hopeful speculation.

"Put in Fordham, Alamogordo and elementary and see what comes up," Liz suggested, thinking of all the newspaper clippings sent to Grandma Claudia over the years due to Liz's over-achieving nature.

Alex typed rapidly and hit 'enter', clicking on the first entry, an archived article from the Alamogordo Daily News.

"Apparently, third-grader, 'Billy' Fordham took 5th place at the Otero County science fair with his scale-model of the solar system," Alex stated with a grin before clicking back to his search list. "And he also made the principal's honor roll that year with a B+ average," Alex switched back to his search results but found nothing else of note.

"He seems to have fallen off the Daily News's radar after the third grade," Alex noted with a slightly defeated sigh.

"Where did you say his dad had worked?" Maria questioned, an inquisitive line formed between her eyebrows, trying to recall an incidental memory from grade school.

"Triton Demolition," Alex pulled down the day's history, going back to the police report. "Why?"

"Search the newspaper archives for the business," Maria suggested.

"Huh, seems that the company was bought out in '92, following the completion of its government contract at the Air Force Base. The article says most employees who didn't opt to take the early retirement incentive would've been transferred to offices near Los Angeles."

Maria responded excitedly, "Remember that transfer student in 2nd grade…Brittany Manning, I think her name was," her friends shrugged, not recalling the girl. "Well, she was just here for a few months. She was from Alamogordo and said her family moved to Roswell cause they didn't want to move to LA—her mom thought the whole state was gonna' up and fall in the ocean one of these days."

Maria's friends regarded her with stunned incredulity.

Maria continued, trying to explain the random memory, "See, the only place in California I'd been to was Disneyland. I had nightmares for a week that Cinderella's castle was collapsing and floating away into the Pacific," she recounted with a far-off look, as the others, humans and aliens alike questioned Maria's grasp of reality for the moment.

"The Matterhorn and Space Mountain, too," she sighed, "The only place you were safe was on the Pirates of the Caribbean, cause it was a boat," she explained matter-a-factly, finally noting the stunned stares and narrowed eyes surveying her.

"That's why I remembered that business closing. I was scared to leave the Roswell city limits for a month after that.

"Insane…but useful," Alex chirped, searching again for 'Billy Fordham' and 'Los Angeles', resulting in thousands of hits.

"Add 'high school'," Liz suggested, remembering their earlier luck.

"Hemery High faculty/student tug-of-war, chaired by freshman vice-president, Billy Fordham," Alex perused the search list. "Superintendent's honor roll…," Alex droned before scrolling down to a more pertinent entry.

"Hemery Long-Distance Runner Sidelined for Season," selecting the article, Alex continued, "It's not very specific—just says something about Fordham seeking treatment for an illness and that the team would be looking for a runner to fill the spot."

A hum of anxiety bristled the members of the huddled group, recalling the urgency of the queen's request.

"Can you hack into Hemery's student records?" Max prodded, keenly aware of the wealth of information contained in such a file.

"Let me bounce off a few overseas servers," Alex muttered as his fingers flew across the keyboard, the decryption software buzzing through millions of combinations as the search was relayed to bogus IP addresses in parts of the world where student privacy was not of the utmost concern.

"Here we go," Alex blew out the breath he was unaware he was holding while the administration screen popped up and began to load. Scanned reports from elementary school and more recent document files detailing the last few years of Billy Fordham's high school career appeared on the screen. Alex began with the earliest available file.

Liz, queen of copious note-taking, grabbed a sheet of paper from Alex's printer and a pencil from a "Geeks are Sexy" coffee mug near his monitor, jotting down last known addresses and phone numbers—anything that might be of use.

"Pretty much what you might expect, mostly A's and B's…strong math and science skills…athletics and student leadership…," Alex trailed off, his brow furrowing as he reached an anomaly in the otherwise decent student record.

"Looks like things started taking a nose-dive for Billy beginning of sophomore year," Alex clicked onto the next set of files.

"Grades dropping, detention referrals for disrupting class, ditching school, even a minor altercation with a teacher."

Max, Liz and Isabel shared concerned looks, while Michael slouched back and smirked, Billy's record starting to sound more like his own than Max's.

"Click on class attendance," Isabel pointed to the screen with a pink-polished fingernail.

"Absences start averaging 75-80% by the end of October before they drop him from his current classes in November. There's a counselor's note that states they tried to set up a homebound schedule, but there was no response from the Fordham's."

"Go back to the demographics screen for a sec," Liz suggested, pulling a frown as she looked over her notes.

"Scroll down to parent's names," Liz directed.

Alex followed her directive, revealing only a single name amongst several empty boxes.

"Only Shirley Fordham is currently listed," Max commented, practically reading Liz's mind at her suggestion.

"No work number either," Isabel added, the group's concern over the state of the Fordham's household growing.

Alex toggled back to the main student screen when Max nodded at the blank graphics box, marked only by a red 'X' in the left-hand corner.

When Alex right-clicked on the icon, linking to the most current student photo, Max stared transfixed at the image that was revealed—a single gold earring…too-confident smile…and amber eyes that matched his own.


	3. Chapter 3

My Brother's Keeper-Ch 3

On to Sunnydale…As Max and Liz prepare for the trip to California, Drusilla seeks out her sire as Buffy and Spike watch from afar.

Alterations to the Buffyverse—In this fic, Buffy's birthday is in June instead of January. Tara and Anya are brought into the Scoobies earlier (their perspectives and commentary will be important). Drusilla has foreseen Angelus return, but Buffy and Spike are unaware as to the catalyst in the loss of Angel's soul. Angel remains unaware of this impending threat.

Warnings in this chapter—Slight non-con, bloodplay, definitely mature subject matter

Meanwhile…in Sunnydale, California

Oh Daddy,  
You know you make me cry,  
How can you love me,  
I don't understand why.

Oh Daddy,  
If I can make you see,  
If there's been a fool around,  
It's got to be me.

Oh Daddy,  
You soothe me with your smile,  
You're letting me know,  
You're the best thing in my life.

Oh Daddy,  
If I can make you see,  
If there's been a fool around,  
It's got to be me.

Why are you right when I'm so wrong,  
I'm so weak but you're so strong,  
Everything you do is just alright,  
And I can't walk away from you, baby  
If I tried.  
-Christine McVie 

Standing on a rooftop, overlooking the darkened playground, the petite vampire slayer watched the scene taking place below her. She had planned to catch up with Angel after her nightly patrol, the souled-vampire's brooding had kept him at arm's length lately, and Buffy was unsure if their relationship would ever progress beyond a few chaste kisses goodnight after Angel's climbing through her bedroom window. But even those restrained attentions were given less often as of late, and Buffy wanted to discover why Angel, the champion enlisted by the Powers-that-Be, was suddenly less-than-attentive and even stingier with his affections than usual. As Buffy Summers looked down on the two brunettes, oddly out-of-place amidst the jungle gym and children's swings, the sixteen-year-old was afraid she had discovered the answer.

Near as she was, Buffy feared that Angel would hear her pounding heart or smell her anxious scent, but he seemed far too occupied with the swaying figure in white before him. The Slayer's face scrunched in confusion when the moon rose and lit the tall, lithe figure from behind, revealing that the beautiful woman standing before Angel wore nothing but a long, sheer cotton nightgown, the cleft of her thighs and the points of her nipples silhouetted with each turn of her tuneless dance.

What startled Buffy most was the discernable *lack* of surprise from Angel at the presence of the ghostly, twirling figure before him. He seemed expectant, resigned, as if this meeting were one of the mysterious prophecies he would often deliver to Buffy before retiring again to the dark. But now it was the Slayer retreating to the shadows, straining to overhear the bizarre conversation taking place in the sandbox below.

"Daddy! You found me!" Drusilla wrapped her arms round Angel's neck as she swayed round, forcing his arms to her tiny waist while she completed her dizzying revolution. "The stars-," Dru looked up to the night sky, as if listening to the million voices casting from the tiny pinpricks of light, her wide mouth open as if drinking in their words. Angel could not help but follow her line of sight, fruitlessly searching the silent universe.

"The stars said you would be home for the party, Daddy…

Bring me…

Fairy cakes and cream…

A string of bright fishes…

Little red witches…

And dark gypsy girls who scream…."

Drusilla sing-songed the appalling rhyme, giggling manically as she skipped circles round Angel, her eyes alight at the mayhem she had foreseen in the vision that assured the psychotic vampiress of her daddy's return. The laugh that rang through the warm night was that of a little girl, but when she once again launched herself into Angel's arms and ground her thinly-covered cleft against Angel's crotch, his trousers concealing the manhood that had long lay dormant after decades of soul-imposed celibacy, Drusilla's sexual desire was evident. The guilt-ridden vampire flinched at the stirrings aroused by the lean, girlish body he'd violated in countless ways as Angelus, before the curse of a soul forced him to suddenly revile all he had before taken such pleasure in.

The hulking vampire brought his hands up to his neck, bringing down the pale fingers tipped in black varnish that were wrapped around him, trying to disentangle himself from her grasp. He could spend an eternity trying to suss out Drusilla's crazed ramblings and try to prevent the eventualities that she so often predicted, but Angel lacked the time and patience for such games.

"Dru," Angel questioned sternly, as a father would a petulant young child, "Where is Spike?" He barely suppressed his anger at the rebellious blonde for allowing his broken childe out to wander the night alone.

"My boy is dancing with the sunshine…," Dru pronounced dreamily, swaying once again as Angel gripped her hands to her undulating hips. Her forlorn expression shifted to a stern pout, like a schoolgirl scolding her dolls and teddies while playing 'teacher', "He'll be a naughty boy and sit in the corner, with only sad puppies to play with…."

"Sunshine?" Angel questioned incredulously, partly because he would have felt the loss had Dru's childe dusted in his defiance of the dark, and partly because the care of the weakened though vicious vampiress would have fallen to him. He could not bear to stake her, but constant care of the insane demon before him did not exactly correspond with his plans for repentance and redemption.

"Daddy wanted to dance, but it was time for church…mustn't be late…the body…the blood …the body…the blood…," Drusilla sashayed around Angel, palms flush and head bowed, as if taking part in a religious ritual long buried in her twisted psyche.

Angel groaned softly, scrubbing his face with his hand, knowing it was not the first time guilt gnawed at his gut over Dru, nor would it likely be the last. Ripping the young girl away from her intended service to God would plague his soul for an eternity. But Angel knew that his contrition would not solve the current problem of his wayward childe.

"You and Spike need to leave Sunnydale immediately. I can't let you feed, and I can't keep hiding you from the slayer," he spat out in warning, hoping that his simple commandment might sink into Drusilla's addled brain.

Buffy shrank back at the admitted betrayal, stepping further into the shadows and away from the painful scene below. She gasped audibly as her back met a firm, solid chest, and the scent of leather, tobacco and whisky suddenly filled her senses. The Slayer's skyrocketing pulse gave proof to her mistake—becoming so transfixed by the vampires below that she failed to notice the one behind—a mistake that the virginal blonde believed would be her last.

Icy fear ran through Buffy's veins, knowing that her only remaining stake rested between her body and Spike's, his arms tightly confining her body against his. She felt his fingers dip into the back of her waistband, plucking out the hidden stake and tossing it soundlessly to the grass, far away from their partners below.

Her tiny body stiffened, steeling herself for the fangs that would drain her dry, the only vampire who equaled her in skill, catching her off-guard as she spied on Angel.

But the vicious bite didn't come though a damp, clear trickle traced a meandering path down Buffy's neck, making her shudder as it rolled to her breast. Opening her eyes once again to the drama that unfolded at their feet, the captured slayer did not plead with the notorious vampire or provoke a fair fight through taunting insults and smart-aleck jabs, but instead, quietly asked, "Who is she?"

"My dark princess…," Spike sighed painfully answering his adversary's question, "Drusilla."

Any other night, Spike would have reveled in catching the slayer unaware-dominating her, besting her with caustic words and lethal fangs. And though her tiny body remained in his iron grip, the blonde vampire seemed as frozen, as transfixed as the slayer herself. The master vampire seethed, expelling deep, unnecessary breaths, watching as the great love of his unlife, the prophetic vampiress he'd devoted the past 120 years of his existence to, wantonly draped herself around his great ponce of a grand-sire, tantalizing her dear Daddy with her sweet, honeyed sex and her taut, dusky nipples barely obscured by the thin, cotton lawn nightgown.

An angry growl rumbled low in Spike's chest, remembering how Angelus would often saunter into a room, pulling the wide neckline down to take Dru's tender breast in his mouth, fingers groping underneath the long white skirts, and never letting Spike forget that Dru wasn't meant to be his alone.

If not for that damn mob, Spike could've kept Drusilla far away from Sunnydale and the great "souled wonder," but she was weak—too weak to hunt, often too weak to feed, and every cure, every spell, every hope all employed the one thing that Spike could not provide—sire's blood.

"Mustn't go away, Daddy. Spike said Daddy could make me all better, make me strong again," Drusilla fell into Angel's chest , letting her frail body sag against his solid one, hoping to illicit his sympathy in her apparent helplessness.

"Dru…I can't…there's nothing I can do…," the guilt Angel harbored over Drusilla's insanity contorted his broad forehead, plaguing his tortured soul as he absently stroked her long dark locks.

"What's wrong with her? What did you do to her?" Buffy accused as she listened to the exchange, sickened at the implications.

"What did *I* do to her? You think *I'm* responsible for that madness?"Spike whispered venomously, incensed, though not wishing to be discovered by his ponce of a grand-sire just yet.

"That was all her *Daddy's* doing, not mine," the younger vamp fumed, "Tortured her till she was as twisted as Angelus himself. Chains, whips…things to make you burn, things to make you bleed…," Spike painted for the Slayer a picture of the early days of Dru's turning, as Angelus had so often boasted. The peroxide blonde grimaced over Buffy's shoulder, silently suppressing his own torture at Angelus' hands and words.

Appalled by the Slayer's apparent lack of knowledge, whether she chose to ignore the well-documented facts of Angel's past, or she couldn't be bothered to open one of the numerous volumes that recounted the swath of destruction the Scourge of Europe left in their wake, Spike wasted no time in pointing out the Slayer's negligence, "Christ, you really don't know shit about the vamp you're bedding, you ignorant chit."

"I'm not bedding him, you asshole," Buffy spat back, regardless of the fact that she was completely at Spike's mercy, the warmth that flushed her cheeks revealing the innocence behind all her tough words. Spike wondered if a chink in the Slayer's fluttering virtue might be reason enough to draw Peaches' attentions back to the tasty little slice of sunshine currently in his own iron grasp and away from the pleasures of his ripe, wicked plum.

Spike smirked, chuckling in Buffy's ear even as he watched his dark princess drape herself over her precious *Daddy*. "What's the hold-up, there, Slayer?" Spike accused in his taunting, the twisted theory forming in his mind that if Peaches were getting' his jollies with the Slayer, then Dru's prediction of her Daddy's return might not come to pass.

A little taste…a bit of show-and-tell …might be just the thing to cure the self-righteous slayer of her well-guarded virginity.

And if that didn't work, then maybe the scent of the slayer on his fingertips would adequately provoke the jealousy of the two vampires far below. Either way, a little sexual education seemed the most effective tactic at Spike's disposal.

"What's it take to get between the Slayer's dimpled knees, huh?" Spike spoke in a low voice that dripped with poisoned honey, letting a fang slide smoothly over the soft skin beneath Buffy's ear. Buffy shook as Spike's left hand dropped beneath her skirt to her panty-covered mound, drawing a teasing trail over the fabric till he felt the flesh part under his touch, pressing firmly against her covered clit while he pinched her nipple to hardness with his right. Buffy's breath hitched in a gasp as Spike's finger dipped inside the tiny scrap of lace, slowly tracing the slick swollen lips, smiling wickedly as Buffy's unwilled juices began to flow.

"That's it, pet," Spike drawled cunningly, dipping into the well of the Slayer's passage just to give the inexperienced girl the vaguest hint of what her body ached for. Buffy bit back a whimper when Spike's fingers withdrew from her yearning core. His right hand snaked under Buffy's snug sweater, masterfully sliding his hand inside Buffy's lacy bra, a pleased, low groan issuing from his throat as he felt the Slayer's heart pound beneath his hand.

The wily vampire drew his left forefinger up to part the closed furrow, grinning sadistically as his finger slowly but firmly circled the Slayer's swollen clit. Buffy trembled at the coil of desire being wound tighter by her nemesis' insistent touch and venomous words.

"See there, kitten," Spike crooned, whispering seductively below Buffy's ear as his slick fingers continued circling her engorged nubbin, "you offer Peaches this sweet little quim of yours, warm and tight…keep him good and interested…," Spike lasciviously suggested, his jeans-covered cock grinding hard against the Slayer's nearly bare backside.

Fear, shame and desire assaulted Buffy's sensibilities all at once. She could have cried out, drawn Angel's attention away from the wrecked childe in his arms, but part of the young slayer needed to witness the betrayal—to what lengths Angel would go to soothe the wounded vampiress. Part of her understood the truth in the malicious vampire's twisted words—somewhere between jealousy and desire, she needed to save Angel's soul, give him her young, nubile body, her innocence, leaving her first love no reason to return to his needy childe below.

"There are no cakes and tea, Daddy," moaned the beautiful, swaying demon. Miss Edith will be cross if it goes past tea time and the table is empty." Drusilla searched the night for guests to attend the macabre festivities, intending them for the menu as opposed to the party-goers.

"The pixies will fret without their biscuits, Daddy," madness and hunger driving Dru deeper into the depths of her insanity. "The teapot's gone empty," she mourned in regret, clutching at the empty belly beneath the thin gown.

Angel scanned the dark night for his bothersome, blonde grandchilde from whom Drusilla had slipped away, seeking relief from her sire. Angel growled in frustration at William's absence, feeling him on the fringes of his consciousness, but unable to pinpoint the overreaching upstart. Angel's silent resentment of Dru's childe continued till the crazed vampiress remembered their youthful guest who had departed too soon.

"Must find our young friend, Daddy," Drusilla stepped away to scent where the little boy had gone. "He came for the party, but you made him go away," the brunette demon strained to escape her sire's grasp and seek the tender young child who had run to find his mummy. "I can find him, Daddy…bring him back for party games."

As much as it pained Angel to do so, he realized that he must quell his childe's bloodlust and soothe her madness, if only for tonight. What he could offer was no cure, no panacea for Drusilla's ills, but might bring her a modicum of satiety and peace before that hunger was satisfied by the blood of the innocent.

Shucking off his leather jacket, Angel ripped at the cuff of his left sleeve, shoving the fabric roughly up his forearm, and, dropping into his long-forgotten brogue, the souled vampire lured the mad brunette back to his massive body, Drusilla's unseen smile revealing eager teeth as her thinly-covered back molded to her sire's broad chest.

Angel's gut twisted at the part he was forced to play, how to bring the wild beauty under his control for the moment. Gritting his teeth against the horror of what he was about to do, Angel whispered into Drusilla's long, dark locks while bringing his wrist to her hungry mouth.

"Drink…my dahrlin' ghirl," Angel tempted, his voice thick with the accent that Drusilla would've known from the day of her turning. Immediately, bones shifted, eyes flashed gold, and teeth became as razors when Drusilla was presented with the coveted offering of sire's blood.

Angel couldn't prevent the shift in his own body as well, unable to repress a growl as his childe pulled sensuously at his borrowed blood. He was helpless to ignore the swelling of his cock, bitten by the zipper of his trousers, wishing to be buried in his devotee's familiar depths.

Drusilla ground her thinly-covered backside against her sire's covered cock, hoping to drive away the nasty soul that kept her daddy away for too long.

"More, Daddy…," Drusilla moaned between measured sips, "hurt me…love me…."

Angel cringed at the betrayal he was committing, but prayed that the greater good would be served by Drusilla's temporary submission. The bond between childe and sire was reinforced not only by biting and blood, but also by pleasure.

The pain in Angel's face as he spoke would have given him away had his face not been hidden in the crook of her eager neck, "Don't yah worry, now…yah Da knows how to take care of his little ghirl…."

Angel roughly pulled at the white lace with his right hand, exposing Dru's dusky bud to the night air. Rolling it coarsely between his thumb and forefinger, he offered his childe's breast the attention it had grown accustomed to during his days as Angelus.

Dru's writhing became all the more frenzied, threatening Angel's controlling hold. Her pulls at his wrist became increasingly strong as well, and the souled vamp knew that he would be forced to satisfy her body as well as her blood if there was to be any good to come of his debasement.

Yanking up the frilly hem of Dru's gown, Angel parted the cleft of her sex forcefully, thrusting two fingers deep within the passage that he had abused time and again before the guilt of the gypsy curse. He primed her snug channel to slickness, the pillowed walls kept tight by her never-fading youth, his thick fingers having avoided this intimacy for over a century.

Drusilla cooed, licking closed the punctures on her sire's wrist, her game face slipping back to its beautiful guise. She freed her daddy's hand so that it, too, could bring her delicious love and welcome pain.

"Ah, now…there's a good lass," Angel praised. His freed fingers returned to the exposed nipple, twisting and pulling to the mad vampiress' delight. The hand, wet with her juices pulled fiercely at her cleft, twisting her swollen clit and forcing Angel's aching, imprisoned cock between the cool globes of Drusilla's bottom.

There was no absolution for the sin he was committing.

There were tears in the eyes of both blondes that witnessed the scene below—tears of shame, regret, longing, betrayal –though their bodies were too far gone toward their vicious pleasure to stop. What started for Spike as a mind game, a means to an end, had become driven by fear, by need, by an invisible thread between villain and heroine.

Buffy's idealized romance with the souled vampire suffered as she watched Angel give Drusilla what she herself had secretly wanted—his touch, his pleasure. Though she spent her nights surrounded by vampire dust and demon slime, slaying creatures that threatened to burn her, slice her, drain her dry—she was otherwise set apart as a paragon of virtue, to remain unsullied in true heroic fashion. But her life was to be short—and pleasure scarce.

So as Spike bested her, demoralized her, slipped his fingers inside the tiny scrap of lace, Buffy could no longer worry about the judgment of others, the threat of Angel losing his soul as Drusilla had predicted, hell, she couldn't even worry about Spike sucking the very lifeblood from her throat and ending her existence…because in that moment, all she could do…was feel.

The fleeting thought of breaking Spike's grip, of avenging his intrusion with her bare knuckles alone never seemed to take hold as Buffy clutched the back of Spike's thigh while he ground his stiff cock and worn denim against Buffy's soft backside. Spike's lips and tongue traced a path over the back of Buffy's neck, toying with the sensitive flesh he found there.

All slayer instinct, all sense of self-preservation had blown away like so much vampire dust into the night sky. Buffy melted bonelessly against Spike's chest, panting as she tried to stifle the moans issuing from her throat. Behind her, she heard the subtle clink of Spike's belt buckle opening and the rasp of the zipper sliding down, and for a moment, the slayer feared that Spike would thrust into her, tear away her virginity, and claim her for his own. For a moment—Buffy feared she would let him.

Meeting the sudden tension in Buffy's spine and fear in her scent, Spike cooed softly in her ear as the blonde vampire's cool column of hard flesh grazed the cleft of the Slayer's bottom, sliding against the warm flesh as he thrust but made no attempt to enter.

"Not gonna hurt 'ya…not mine to take…," Spike whispered absently. Spike could hear the small regretful moan that escaped Buffy's lips and slipped his right hand down to fill her aching channel with his fingers.

"More, daddy, please…," the dark vampiress wailed, aching for her sire. A mere touch would not be enough to satisfy Angel's childe as her sire had worked for decades over a century ago, enduring her to pain and lust.

Pangs of guilt tore at Angel, for the baser instincts of both man and beast would have loved nothing better than to drive his cock mercilessly into Drusilla's depths, satisfying his long repressed needs and sating his dear childe as well. But the souled vamp could not allow himself the pleasure—it was difficult enough to stifle his desire for Buffy, whom he wanted since the Powers That Be sent him as their messenger—she was still young…inexperienced…too pure for a demon like himself.

But he had violated Drusilla a hundred different ways over the years they were together…committed atrocities that made him cringe to think about them now. It would be so simple, so easy to take her here, in this abandoned playground. Who would know…who would judge…?

The wings of Angel's soul beat fiercely, and forsaking his own gratification, the dark sire pinned his begging childe to the bars that only hours before were filled with children, laughing in the sunlight.

From a far rooftop, two hearts clenched at the scene below, both knowing the compulsion of the bond between childe and sire, knowing that only Angel's blood could quiet Drusilla's distress, but logic could not chase away grief, could not stall the vengeance of pleasure.

"Buffy…," Spike moaned, drawing hard, slick strokes against Buffy clit while his fingers filled her snug passage. Though his cock yearned to fill the Slayer's virgin quim, the master vampire was content to draw a steady path against the cleft of her heart-shaped bottom.

"Spike, please…," Buffy cried, without knowing exactly what she was pleading for. Unfamiliar tingles began to brew deep in her belly, her core aching in need.

Angel allowed his fangs to emerge and his eyes to flash gold, his teeth piercing the crinkled flesh while suckling at the tender nipple.

"More, Daddy, please!" his childe cried, desperate for affection and torture.

Angel shoved a slick finger into the vampiress' back passage, eliciting a happy cry of pain and pleasure from the writhing brunette.

Gratified as her sire filled her snug channels and bit and suckled her pert breast, Drusilla caught her sire unaware, rapidly releasing Angel's aching shaft.

"Dru, no," Angel admonished regretfully, but his dark childe was already working his flesh with abandon.

"Must always take care of Daddy, and Daddy will take care of his little girl," Drusilla chanted, as Angelus' ancient maxim threatened Angel's redemption.

Angel pounded Drusilla's sex with his hands, trying to hasten his childe's release before his own self-control failed. Drusilla met every thrust of her sire's hands with strokes of her own, Angel's jaw clenched as he tried to reign in the need that Dru was so willing to fulfill.

Buffy cried out first in fear, then in pleasure as she felt Spike's fangs pierce the back of her neck. It was not the painful, gouging invasion of the Master's bite, but instead, spike's fangs multiplied the release he gave with his hands, now slick with her honey that flowed freely in her release.

"So sweet…," Spike groaned in satisfaction, shuddering as his cool spendings drew a wet path down Buffy's backside while his mouth filled with just a taste of slayer blood.

Angel bit fiercely into Drusilla's neck as their cries rang out into the night, their hands driving the other to pleasure, even though it had not been Angel's intention. Angel's soul fluttered in protest though he fought to clamp it down, chain it deep within, telling himself that the greater good had been served in the end.

"Drusilla," Angel directed forcefully, in the voice of a stern parent, "I want you to go straight back to the factory and stay there until Spike returns. Do you understand?"

The dark vampiress pouted like a schoolgirl who had not gotten her way. Angel softened to achieve his influence, dropping back into his Irish brogue once more.

"Yah Da took care of yah, now dinnit he?" Angel reasoned breathily into his childe's ear. Drusilla nodded in answer.

"Promise me, Daddy, you'll be home soon. The pixies said it won't be long…."

"Soon, Dru…," Angel blindly promised, unaware of the visions that predicted Angelus' return.

"Be a good ghirl an' run along home," Angel encouraged.

Drusilla crashed her mouth to Angel's, her tongue demanding entrance as the kiss caught her sire off-guard. Before the guilt-ridden vamp had the chance to protest, Drusilla pulled back from the kiss, offering her sire a wicked smile.

"I'll see you soon, Daddy…."

At Angel and Dru's departure, the spell over the voyeuristic blondes was broken, Buffy recoiling as Spike licked closed the small wounds.

"You bit me," Buffy accused in an astonished breath. Clutching at the back of her neck, Buffy was transfixed by the delicious pleasure that accompanied it and by the fact that Spike did not drain her dry.

After tucking himself back in, Spike reached behind Buffy slowly, pulling away the hair elastic, so the honeyed locks would fall to her shoulders, hiding the healing marks that would soon fade.

Spike saw the questions forming in Buffy's mind, though he could not bring himself to answer them. Shifting tactics, he firmly restated their plan of action unwittingly forged on the rooftop.

"So, remember—you do whatever it takes to keep Angel interested," Spike stammered, not even aware of his use of his grand-sire's preferred name.

"What are you going to do about Drusilla?" Buffy asked in return, her spitefulness and snarkiness had yet to return following her intimate encounter with the blonde vampire.

"Jealousy…grand sweeping gesture…stomp on some damn pixies…," Spike chuckled, "not really sure, yet."

"How long will Angel's blood help her?" Buffy inquired, hoping it would be some time before she had to witness that scene again.

"A few days…nothing permanent without the right spell…," Spike reported regretfully.

"If she's feeding, I'll have to stake her," Buffy declared, knowing that the admonishment should've applied to Spike as well, though it was difficult to make a command she wasn't sure she could back up.

"I'll keep an eye on her, Slayer."

"It's Buffy," the young blonde reminded.

Spike paused to look back at the girl whose scent still lingered on his hands as the taste of her blood did on his tongue, and nodding once, replied, "Good night, Buffy…."


	4. Chapter 4

_Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone  
Your demons come to light and your mind is not your own  
Lonely is the night when there's no one left to call  
You feel the time is right-(say) the writin's on the wall_

It's a high time to fight when the walls are closin' in  
Call it what you like-it's time you got to win  
Lonely, lonely, lonely-your spirit's sinkin' down  
You find you're not the only stranger in this town…  


Buffy hadn't seen Angel in over a week—no abrupt appearances at the Sunnydale High library, no lurking in the shadows at the Bronze. The young slayer wasn't quite sure how to feel about this turn of events—on one hand, she longed to see the mysterious, handsome vampire; on the other, Buffy couldn't put out of her mind the disturbing scene she witnessed at the playground.

Drusilla's obscure prophecies concerning Angelus' return niggled at the back of Buffy's mind. While the sixteen-year-old herself would have gladly ignored Dru's ramblings about 'pixies' and 'tea parties' and 'Daddy coming home,' Spike seemed worried enough to confide in Buffy his fear over the potential forfeit of Angel's soul. Though Spike's concern centered on the loss of Drusilla's affections should Angelus return, and Buffy feared confronting the sadistic, soulless demon, wearing Angel's face, they both conceded that maintaining the integrity of the vampire's suffering soul was of the utmost import.

In his fervor to bind Buffy and Angel more inextricably together, Spike provided Buffy with a taste of sexual pleasure, hoping to spur her on and seek the same from Angel. While Spike's words callously taunted Buffy for her inexperience, the desperation in his touch suggested that he, too, was acting out of pain, out of betrayal, as the two blondes watched Drusilla drink her sire's blood and feel his touch.

Buffy turned over the complications in her mind, trying to discern how much of Angel's actions were necessary for his childe's well-being and how much fed his own pleasure and need. The petite blonde sighed and rolled to her side as she lay under the covers, flicking at Mr. Gordo's ear in her consternation.

Her slayer senses heightened just before the soft rapping on her window was heard. Buffy jerked her head up to see Angel's dark eyes look beseechingly toward her from the closed window. Hesitating momentarily as the internal debate over her yearning to see Angel and versus her disgust with his recent behavior waged in the Slayer's head, the petite blonde sighed deeply, flinging back the covers and swinging her legs to the floor. Making her way to the window, Buffy's black silk nightie teased with each step, the curly ruffle at the bottom hem swirling round the tops of her thighs. Though her bedtime attire may have seemed like an afterthought, Buffy had actually washed the panties and short gown by hand each morning, in hopes that she would be wearing it when Angel came to her window.

"Come in, Angel," Buffy invited tentatively, perching on the end of her bed as Angel took the window seat, diverting his eyes from the tantalizing view.

"Long time, no second-story visit," Buffy quipped lightly, hoping to draw the sullen vampire into a casual conversation.

"Yeah…um…sorry about that…lots going on, lately," Angel looked up nervously, unable to hold Buffy's steady gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Thought we were going to meet up after patrol last Friday—maybe go to the Bronze, remember?" Buffy inquired, trying to hide the fact that she knew precisely what he was doing the previous weekend and with whom.

"Well…I looked for you after I dealt with a little vamp problem at the playground…kept a kid from becoming a late night snack," he offered weakly, hoping that Buffy would believe his lame, but partially true, excuse.

"Mm," Buffy nodded, knowing more about the brooding vampire's whereabouts than she let on.

Angel stammered, seeing that Buffy was not yet convinced of his complete altruism.

"It was really late by that point, though…," he added, trying to formulate an excuse, "figured you were already in bed…so I went home…stayed up and read awhile."

"K—maybe next time, then," Buffy smiled, though it did not reach her eyes, shadowed in the darkened room. Her tone was falsely bright, though it would not pay to rouse the vampire's suspicions. Buffy tried to put away the hurt she felt due to Angel's deception and half-truths since she figured that no good would come from alienating her already-distant and distracted boyfriend.

"So what brings you to my window, tonight?" Buffy inquired purposefully, and a little more loudly than she'd originally intended.

Angel looked to Buffy's bedroom door, his muscles tightening as if he might need to flee suddenly.

"It's fine—mom's gone on a buying trip, *No need to whisper,*" Buffy ironically spoke in a theatrical rasp, hoping to set Angel at ease with her humor.

This piece of news seemed only to make Angel all the more nervous instead of setting him at ease. His dark eyes darted around the room, as if looking for another impetus to leave.

In an effort to nip Angel's impending exit in the bud, Buffy slid off the bed slowly, taking unhurried steps toward the window, one foot saucily stepping in front of the other, a teasing glimpse of the slayer's tiny panties peeking out with each swing of the her hips.

Buffy decided to block out the recent images of Angel and Drusilla that had replayed in her head for the last week. Instead, she recalled Spike's not-so-subtle sex ed lesson on the rooftop that night. With the necessity of seduction in mind, Buffy let her voice drop to a dark, husky drawl as she sauntered to the window seat.

"So…," Buffy coyly asked as she perched on Angel's lap, tickling at the nape of his neck with curious fingers, "did you just stop in for a visit?" The petite blonde punctuated her question with a teasing kiss to the tender skin just underneath Angel's jaw, while the fingers of her left hand traced seductive trails at his unbuttoned collar. Her flirtatious intentions were as clearly obvious and direct as one of her roundhouse kicks.

Angel grew hard and unnerved as Buffy's warm, satiny bottom nestled against his rarely-utilized manhood, his desire for the beautiful slayer threatened his sought-after redemption which was already on shaky ground following his playground encounter with Drusilla.

But as tempting as Buffy was, home alone in her black silk nightie, Angel, however, remained steadfast.

"Um…no…," Angel stammered, plucking Buffy delicately from his lap and replacing her on the window seat as he stood, searching his pockets as an excuse to disengage from the lure of the slayer's warm, nubile body.

"Prophecy…actually…," Angel stammered, finally locating the notes he had jotted down in the interior pocket of his leather jacket. "The Powers that Be…," Angel fidgeted where he stood, anxious to avoid sitting down again, lest Buffy try to maneuver him toward her bed this time, "sending us…um…our weekly heads up, I guess," Angel sheepishly waved the folded paper as a lame bit of show-and-tell.

Buffy huffed and crossed her legs, off-put but Angel's rejection of her obvious invitation. Gritting her teeth against the tears that threatened to well, Buffy drew on the anger and frustration she felt instead. Her response to Angel's pronouncement came out a little more bitterly than intended.

"So what do the harbingers of the apocalypse have to say today?" she quipped.

"Yeah…right…," Angel was startled back into action, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the face of Buffy's ire. Unfolding the paper, he began to read the translated prophecy.

"From the stars, across the sand

Two princes, seeking-

One seeks to make whole and gain the universe

One seeks to destroy and finds only the grave…"

Angel looked up expectantly, his eyes then quickly darting away from Buffy's focused study. Angel folded up the paper in his hand like an apologetic third-grader who had just recited a history report straight from the encyclopedia.

"That's it?" questioned Buffy, underwhelmed by the content of the prophecy Angel had just delivered. At his nod, the frustrated slayer continued to malign the Powers that Be for their foreshortened and murky prognostication.

"I mean, jeez, if they know so much, why don't they just spell it out? Why do they make these prophecies so fucking complicated?" she rubbed at her forehead, perching her elbow on her crossed knee.

"I mean…who the hell should I be expecting exactly…Harry and William? A couple of sheiks from Dubai?" Buffy sprang from the window seat and engaged in her own frustrated pacing, " I mean, my God, can't they save it with the riddles? I'm not frickin' Batman," she continued to rant, not pausing for a response from the tall, brooding vampire.

"I've got enough on my proverbial plate, you know," Buffy shot an accusatory glance Angel's way. His brown eyes cut away again, unable to provide the scantily-clad slayer with an adequate answer.

Between school…and slaying…I'm really quite the busy Buffy, thank you very much," she ranted toward the ceiling. "I am so sick of these damn prophecies," she continued without forethought, "the Powers that Be…talking stars…the damn-," Buffy froze before the 'p' of 'pixies' escaped her lips.

Shaking her head and waving her hand, palm out, Buffy covered her near slip, having nearly forgotten to keep her conversations concerning Drusilla's visions a secret from Angel.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "It's not your fault—I shouldn't have gone off like that," Buffy contritely chastised herself to hide her verbal misstep.

"It's ok," Angel nodded with a regretful smile, "I'm just the messenger, though," the agonized vampire defended.

Buffy was once again reminded of the other prophecy that required her immediate attention, and tried once again to tempt Angel's affections, the corners of her mouth again upturned and her eyes smiling sweetly as she strolled back to the massive form near the window.

"You could stay…you know…we could talk about the prophecy…see if we could figure it out together?" Buffy tempted as her hands caressed the planes of Angel's solid chest over his white shirt.

Creases formed in the dark vampire's broad forehead, his eyes looking everywhere but at Buffy while he stammered at his excuse.

"Sorry, baby…I can't stay tonight…gotta' deal with some old business," he grimaced unhappily, backing away from the warmth of Buffy's small hands on his body.

"Maybe we can get together this weekend," he offered with contrived brightness, trying to maintain a casual air. "Meet up with all the Scoobies…head to the Bronze…," Angel tempted, trying to appease his disappointed girlfriend, giving her a quick, chaste kiss on the lips.

The guilt-ridden vamp needed to check on Drusilla—knowing Spike was usually out and about this time of night. Angel figured he'd better prevent the addled vampiress from snacking on the weak and defenseless. He'd drunk an extra mug-full this evening in order to appease his childe's craving.

Moving toward Buffy's bedroom window, he swung a long leg over the sill before turning back to her disappointed face. Avoiding the acknowledgement of her disillusion, Angel's suggestion came out contrived and overly solicitous, "Maybe Giles and your friends can help you with that prophecy tomorrow. You know—big research party," the false excitement only made his words seem more unconvincing. At the tinge of salt in the air, Angel swung his other leg onto the ledge, unable to deal with Buffy's potential tears in the moment.

"See you later, Buffy," Angel's faltering smile faded quickly as the hulking vampire made his speedy descent, leaving an angry, hurt, frustrated teenaged powerhouse in his wake.

Buffy flopped back down on her bed, aggravated at her failure to lure Angel into her bed tonight.

"Only here to talk about a stupid prophecy," she muttered, stretching her legs up against the wall, her heels flexing alternately just above her headboard. The agitated slayer felt like heading out and putting a stake to some poor, unsuspecting fledgling, but that would mean getting dressed all over again. Groaning, she clutched Mr. Gordo in a frustrated snit. The vexed young woman startled at the firm knock on her upper window.

Craning her head around, she spied a white-blonde head glowing in the moonlight. Huffing out a resigned sigh, Buffy swung her legs to the side of the bed, headless of the free show she was providing Spike as she made her way to the open window.

A low whistle and overt leer came from the black-clad vamp as he watched Buffy walk his way, "Well, hello, cutie!" he greeted in lascivious appreciation of Buffy in her chosen nightwear.

"Hello, Spike," Buffy returned with a wry smile, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she questioned the reason for his appearance at her window.

"Well, seeing as I was just strollin' by…," the bleached vampire began unconvincingly, "an' saw Peaches takin' off for the night…thought I'd just swing by and see how things went…," Spike insinuated.

"What do you mean 'how things *went*?" Buffy replied drolly, flopping down on the window seat.

"Your debut, 'su pérdida de la virginidad'," Spike queried with enthusiasm, Buffy grimacing in ever-growing consternation at the blonde vampire's antics.

"In Chile, you would have *looked into the potato's eye*…whatever that means, in France 'la perte de votre fleur'….," he carried on.

"God, Spike…shut up already. I don't really want the whole neighborhood in on the conversation," Buffy rasped, her eyes darting into the shadows, hoping no one was listening. Shaking her head in disbelief at what she was about to do, Buffy sighed, "I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but…won't you come in, Spike," the disgruntled slayer ground out the invitation, knowing that if she didn't, the whole of Sunnydale would be privy to the details of her pitiful sex life.

Spike hopped in the window, his long, black duster trailing after him, landing with a thud. The peroxide blonde bounced on the balls of his feet, surveying Buffy's very girly-girl bedroom, noting the dresser likely to provide fodder for future panty raids.

Turning back to the lingerie-clad, pouting figure still seated on the narrow bench, Spike continued with his line of questioning, which he now deemed safe considering he was inside the Summers' home.

"So…did Peaches tiptoe through your garden and pluck your dainty flower?" Spike walked two fingers along in midair before turning all his fingers up and snatching at an imaginary blossom.

"Was there *Much Ado about Nothing*?" his dark eyebrows waggled at the snug, black panties just visible, employing the help of another William to denote what lay beneath the tiny garment.

"Did he…," Spike drew a drew a dramatic breath before histrionically collapsing on the window seat and depositing his slicked-back curls on the tops of her thighs, "die in your lap?" the vampire's blue eyes twinkled up at the slayer.

"How about 'popping your cherry' or 'turning in your v-card' if you're living in this century and on this continent?" snarked Buffy, before sighing defeatedly, "And…no he didn't."

"What?" Spike retorted in appalled disgust, "The big poof left you all needy and wantin'…with you in your frilly dainties and-," he turned his head to breathe deeply through the scrap of black silk between Buffy's thighs, "smellin' so delicious?" The vampire took a playful nip with blunt teeth at her panty-covered snatch.

"Get off!" Buffy grimaced, pushing the offending vampire to the floor.

"You offering?"

Buffy ignored Spike's lascivious query and playful groans as he lingered on her floor. Buffy was even more disgusted with Angel's rejection after Spike wasted no time in pointing out her abject failure at seduction. She removed herself from the window seat and flounced to her bed, sitting back against the pillows and picked carpet lint off her much-beloved stuffed pig.

Noting the slayer's dejection, Spike untied his bootlaces, kicked off his black Doc Martins and hopped to his feet, plopping himself down beside Buffy without invitation.

Buffy raised an inquiring eyebrow at the presumptuous vampire.

"What do you think you're doing?" she glared at her nemesis that had taken up residence on the right side of her double bed.

"Do I need to remind you of the consequences if we fail, Slayer?—I lose Dru…Angelus wreaks havoc throughout Southern California," Spike ranted. "You'd be in a state—havin' to fight Angelus. I'd be a wreck—tryin' to lure Dru away from her precious daddy…," Spike continued, foreseeing the debacle the pair would face if Angel lost his cursed soul. "And I've still got to find that soddin' spell, so I can get Dru cured and take her away from Sunnyhell for good."

An inexplicable melancholy fell across the room at Spike's pronouncement, even the blonde vamp unable to discern why his last words left him with a confused churning in his gut. He cut his eyes to the opposite side of the bed, noting Buffy's perplexed grimace. Shaking off his own introspection and measuring the slayer's dark mood, Spike changed his tactics in pursuit of his goal.

"So, how exactly did you try and romance the great poof?" Spike inquired solicitously, hoping to correct any flaws in the slayer's strategy with his extensive knowledge of his grandsire's sexual proclivities.

"I don't know," Buffy shrugged, met with an impatient eye-rolling from her bed mate. Her face flushing in embarrassment, Buffy groped for words to explain her plan of attack.

"Well…I kissed him…touched him…sat on his lap…," the slayer offered meekly.

"Hmmm," Spike considered thoughtfully.

"Show me," he ordered bluntly.

"What?"

"Show me what you did…so I can figure what went wonky."

"Alright, then," Buffy rolled off the bed, conceding to the pesky vampire's wishes.

"Well…," Buffy hesitated, trying to decide how to execute the dramatization. "Angel was sitting on the window seat," Buffy pointed.

"Eh—not very comfy," Spike swung his legs off the bed, so his feet met the floor. "We can do this here, Slayer."

"Ok-," Buffy bit her lip, walking the path she had traveled earlier, but in the opposite direction, toward the bed. Smiling coyly, Buffy entranced Spike with the same hip-swinging walk.

Suddenly nervous, even though Spike had acquired first-hand knowledge of her naughty bits only a few days ago, Buffy drew herself up, confidently sauntering toward Spike, her bronzed skin lit to a creamy glow by the moonlight.

Spike grinned at the slayer's renewed confidence, moving with the seductive grace that first caught his eye, watching her dance at The Bronze.

"I walked over to him…," Buffy stepped in between Spike's thighs, his hands instinctively moving to caress her thighs.

"sat in his lap…," Spike patted his thighs like some dark and twisted Santa Claus.

Buffy accepted the silent challenge and slid her silk-covered bottom against the rough denim. Spike scooted her petite body to his crotch, the slayer's heat warming his cool frame.

"What else did you do?" Spike asked huskily.

Buffy bit her lip, moving to recreate the pose she had recently held.

"I touched him here," Buffy tickled the blonde curls at the nape of Spike's neck.

"And here…,"Buffy used the fingers of her left hand to trace the bare skin above the collar of Spike's black tee, her fingers dipping down and pulling the neckline into a vee.

"Did you kiss him?" Spike coaxed with just a hint of need in his voice.

"A little…," Buffy whispered as she offered a kiss to Spike's jawline.

Spike's hands crept underneath the ruffled hem, caressing the small of Buffy's back. He hummed happily at Buffy's tender ministrations, his jeans growing tight even at this slight stimulation.

Spike held the slayer firmly to his lap and lifted his hips, inquiring suggestively, "Did he feel like this underneath you?"

Buffy moaned a little at the hard bulge pressed into her virgin core.

"Kind of…," Buffy decided. "Maybe half that hard?" she tried to estimate.

"Course—it wouldn't be quite what you feel here, luv," Spike bragged, thrusting up once more for good measure.

Awaiting Spike's judgment of her seduction technique, Buff remained perched on Spike's lap, as he seemed to be tabulating her score on skill and style.

"Well, pet, the outfit certainly is fetching…, and of course, you look beautiful," Spike smiled, absently stroking the long, golden locks of the girl called to slay creatures like him.

Buffy looked down shyly, trying to figure where she'd gone wrong. Noting her waning confidence, Spike soothed, "Buffy, if I were Peaches, I'd be buried so deep in that sweet little quim, I wouldn't let you outta' this bed for days," he drawled sultrily.

Buffy smiled at Spike's lewd suggestion.

Momentarily contemplating why Angel seemed so immune to the slayer's virginal charms, Spike decided that they would have to raise the stakes with Angel and offer the plagued vampire a prize that even his guilt-ridden soul couldn't pass up. Having direct knowledge of Angelus' favored past-times, Spike posed a question to the young beauty still warming his lap.

"Have you ever thought about using those pouty little lips for anything besides kissing?"

"Huh?" Buffy questioned confusedly.

"Oral pleasures….," Spike coaxed, though Buffy's face remained furrowed.

"Again, with the 'huh'?"

"A blow job, Slayer," Spike continued bluntly. "Have you ever sucked his—,"

Spike was cut off by Buffy's squeal of disgust.

"Eew, a world of no!" Buffy recoiled, moving to hop off Spike's lap, though he held her firmly to him.

"Now, see, there's your problem, Slayer—you want Angel to see you as a woman, but you still get all squeamish like a little girl in pigtails," Spike chastised.

"I'm sorry…I just don't understand why anyone would want to put their face down *there* on another person," Buffy insisted.

A low chuckle bubbled in Spike's belly, picking the slayer up off his lap and scooping her into his strong arms. Turning around to face the bed, Spike lay the slayer down gently, her head nestled on her favorite pillow.

Buffy suddenly grew nervous at her vulnerable position, and Spike could smell the fear beginning to brew in her body.

"Spike… what are you…," Buffy trailed off her breath catching as Spike stalked up the bed like a panther.

"Just relax, luv,…no reason to get all twitchy," Spike grinned. "Next lesson here, kitten. Let Spike give you a taste of what you're missin'…."

Much like the night above the playground, Buffy was too confused, astounded, and curious to react appropriately to Spike's advances. She should be staking him…or at least throwing him out the open window of her bedroom… but she could only summon the strength for the moan that escaped her lips when he stripped off his snug black tee and began kissing a trail from the tender spot behind Buffy's ear down the length of her soft throat.

A litany of soft reassurances came from Spike's attentive lips as he came to Buffy's jugular, her slayer senses screaming at her to stake the vampire whose lips now toyed with the pulsing vein.

"Relax, Slayer…not gonna' hurt ya'…coulda' done that already if I'd had the mind to…," Spike cajoled between kisses so tender that Buffy couldn't reconcile the image of the blonde vampire now worshipping her body with the one who had attacked her viciously not so very long ago.

"Jus' showin' ya' there's nothin' to be afraid of, pet." Spike's lips moved away from the broad blue vein at Buffy's neck and traveled down her shoulder, nudging the tiny strap of her nightie down with his chin.

At the sudden loss of tension, the neckline of the silky garment gave way, the upper slope of Buffy's breast became visible, Spike grinning at the invitation.

His lips drew a path from Buffy's shoulder to the pert mound, rising with each panting breath.

"Anyone ever kiss you here…?" Spike ran the side of his finger over the taut nipple barely covered by the crumpled black silk.

"No…," Buffy replied nervously, Spike grinning in response as he gently tugged at the scant covering, revealing the pert, rosy bud underneath.

"Beautiful, pet…," Spike praised, his tongue swirling over the puckered circle, teasing the flesh to diamond hardness.

"Spike…?" Buffy stammered for reassurance, feeling vulnerable and exposed with the blonde vampire's tongue lapping at her nipple.

"S'alright, luv," Spike's blue eyes looked up from Buffy's breast, warm with the rush of blood, holding her green gaze as his tongue made a long swipe from the crinkled areola to the tip of the swollen peak. "Supposed to feel like that ," he grinned before wrapping his lips around the fiery nipple and suckling deeply.

Buffy gasped at the sensation, arching up, so that her heated breast would not lose contact with Spike's cool tongue and mouth. Her fingers wove through the loosened curls at his nape, holding the vampire in place at her breast.

Even in this new-found sensation, the warning bells were deafening, but Buffy's sense of purpose—the need to keep Angel from returning to Drusilla's bed and lose his soul—fought to quiet her slayer instincts. And even though the sixteen-year-old couldn't admit this to herself, much less her blonde nemesis that lay at her breast, there was something exciting…something thrilling and forbidden in the initiation into sexual pleasure she was receiving from Spike.

Though otherwise devoted to Drusilla, Spike was giving Buffy indescribable pleasure; whereas, Angel, the vampire who was supposed to be in love with the young slayer, would barely even risk a lingering glance when they were alone.

When Spike hungrily snatched away the loose covering from Buffy's left breast and drew that hard point against his tongue, his demon screamed for the blood that was pounding just below his mouth. Though by most accounts, Spike was an impetuous and impatient vampire—the truth was, he had much more control than the average vamp. So even though his impulse may have been to rip into the slayer's creamy flesh and drain her dry—the sensitive, civilized man buried deep within the coarse exterior would not allow it.

Spike relished the warm, heaving breast in his mouth, and part of him would like nothing more than to remain here, nuzzling at the slayer's breast for days. The lure of her creamy, tender flesh was nearly overpowering, and the master vampire let a fang drop to prick the rosy nipple.

The slayer's initial shout of alarm quickly became a gratified moan as a tiny trickle of blood escaped the small nick. Spike nursed at the wounded breast, drawing out the aphrodisiac-laden blood until his hand that had continued to massage at her right breast had to drop to his jeans, releasing the buckle and buttons before the pressure of his swelling cock grew unbearable.

"That's…that's enough, Spike…," Buffy breathed out a small warning, even in the pure pleasure that his suckling brought. Afraid that the vampire's bloodlust might overtake their tentative truce, Buffy signaled that Spike's late supper was coming dangerously close to being his last.

Spike chuckled as he licked the tiny mark closed, "Was just a little taste, Slayer…," the master vampire shot Buffy a little-boy pout that quickly turned into a sexy leer, snaking his way down her flat stomach, drawing circles in the hollow of her belly button with his tongue. "Remember, pet, vampires tend to get a little…nibbly during sex," Spike playfully tickled at the slayer's ribs with blunt teeth, eliciting a squirming giggle from the nearly-naked blonde beneath him, her hips bucking off the bed in unwitting temptation.

Buffy's laughter stilled, her dancing green eyes meeting Spike's steady gaze as he studied her.

"My bites didn't hurt, did they?" Spike rhetorically inquired.

With a shameful blush rising to her cheeks, Buffy shook her head, silently admitting the satisfaction she'd received from the gentle piercings she'd submitted to.

"They felt…really nice…," Buffy confessed, her reaction to the small pulls Spike had taken running counter to all her slayer training and instincts.

"It's not like that little souvenir you got there from ol' Batface," Spike nodded to the scars that Buffy sported on her neck, courtesy of Darla's disfigured sire. Her hand went to the marks in the self-conscious reminder of her brief death.

"There is more than one kind of vampire bite, luv," Spike smirked as he continued with suckling kisses against her warm skin.

Spike scooted down Buffy's body slowly, kissing and toying at the bronzed flesh with his teeth, breathing deeply the air, rich with the slayer's rising scent. He tugged loose the crumpled nightie, sliding it sensuously down the slayer's skin, dimpled with excitement. Abandoning her fears of exposure in exchange for the blissful temptation that her blonde nemesis offered, Buffy lifted her hips instinctively, allowing Spike to whisk the garment from her trembling body.

Reaching the heated valley of her thighs, the peroxide blonde smiled against Buffy's bronzed skin when his chin met smooth silk. He felt Buffy's muscles tense as his mouth came to the silk-covered cleft of her sex. His fingers spread around the slayer's hips, massaging in small circles.

"Just relax, pet," Spike cooed, delivering soft kisses to the buttery, black fabric at his lips. "Promise, you'll like it…."

Buffy moaned as Spike nestled in the furrow of her swollen nether-lips, the blonde vampire breathing deeply the rich scent collected in the now-sodden scrap of material.

"So am I the first to see this hidden treasure, Slayer?" Spike quirked a scarred eyebrow from beneath Buffy's thighs where he had resumed nuzzling at the triangle of dark silk.

"Since I was a baby," Buffy replied wryly, trying to maintain a brave face, even in her vulnerability.

Spike chuckled softly to himself as he looped his thumbs through the tiny straps at Buffy's hips. How he wished he could throw his triumph in Angelus' face—the first to make his beloved slayer come, the first to taste her sweet honey, and if the gods were willing—his would be the first cock the sweet, young thing would wrap her lips around.

Sadly, as much as Spike may have wanted to, revealing his especial knowledge of young Buffy to his brooding grandsire wouldn't serve their purpose. And even if Drusilla figured out Spike and Buffy's desperate machinations, Angel tended to either ignore or misinterpret the prophetic vampiress's crazed ramblings.

'Sod it,' Spike decided, even though there was a greater purpose for currently being between the slayer's thighs, he was sure as hell going to enjoy himself while he was there.

With a seductive leer, Spike tugged down the tiny threads, Buffy lifting her bottom from the bed in little-girl trepidation as her mortal enemy slid her tiny, black panties down.

Spike pulled slowly, momentarily pausing as he uncovered Buffy's tender, bare mound, the sixteen-year-old's blush shining in the moonlight-filled room. Spike drank in the lusciously innocent sight before him—the virginal slayer's long blonde hair splayed across her pillow, biting her lip till she drew blood, and completely bare except for the black panties paused in their descent.

"Cor, Slayer, but you're beautiful, Spike exhaled, his erection grinding painfully against the brass teeth of his loosened zipper.

"Spike…," Buffy whispered in nervous apprehension, feeling terribly exposed under Spike's studious gaze.

Shaken out of his immobility, Spike returned to his task, swiftly stripping Buffy of the sexy undergarment that belied her inexperience.

The blonde vampire breathed deep at the rich silk, soaked in Buffy's fragrant juices, reminding himself to pocket them when the slayer wasn't looking.

Rocking back on his knees, Spike smiled lasciviously at the sight of the dewy folds parting from Buffy's slick nectar. The young slayer's chest tightened and stomach clenched as she steeled herself for Spike's next move.

Buffy's brows furrowed when Spike's feet landed on the floor.

"What are you…?"

"Just getting' comfy, Slayer," Spike smirked, shucking his jeans off after surreptitiously hiding Buffy's tiny knickers in his back pocket.

"Yeah…ok…," Buffy squeaked as she took in Spike's impressive form, fashioned like one of those Greek statues of carved marble, except for the fact that Spike sported a more impressive package than any piece of antiquated artwork.

Buffy was momentarily torn between fearing that Spike would lose control and drive his demanding cock into her, stripping away the virginity she held so dear-and, on the other hand, hoping he would.

"What are you going to do?" Buffy questioned shakily, trying to remind herself of the reasons why having a vicious, naked master vampire between her legs was a good idea.

Spike mounted the bed, stalking up on hands and knees, once again in masterful command of the slayer's sexual initiation.

"Nothing you won't enjoy, pet," Spike cooed seductively.

Buffy shuddered and tensed at the feel of Spike's lips offering lingering kisses at her instep…the curve of her calf…the tender spot behind each knee. When his kisses reached the quivering expanse of her inner thigh, his blonde curls, dislodged of their gelled hold, tickled at her sensitive folds, sending tingles skittering up Buffy's spine. Buffy couldn't quite reconcile the brutal monster that first attacked her during open house with the man placing soft, delicate kisses on all her untouched places.

Buffy's heartbeat raced as the blonde vampire neared her bare sex; her scent flooded the air. Noting her readiness, Spike looked up from his prize, his dancing blue eyes locking with Buffy's wide green ones.

"So, Slayer,…you were asking why anyone would want to put their mouth down here?" Spike leered. A wicked smiled spread across his face just before parting Buffy's swollen nether lips with a deep swipe of his tongue.

"Oh, God," Buffy gasped at the sensation of Spike's cool tongue tasting her tender flesh, every nerve ending fiery in his wake.

Spike chuckled against Buffy's pink flesh, "Not quite, pet…," he quipped before sending his tongue deep to lap at her sweet juices, "But you do taste like heaven…."

Spike's tongue traced the slick oval of Buffy's sex, not allowing one drop of her tangy sweetness to escape his eager mouth.

"Quite the nummy treat…."

Needy whimpers escaped Buffy's throat when Spike's cool tongue dipped repeatedly into her tight, hungry passage, mimicking the act of which she remained innocent. Her nectar was heady with sweetness and spice, Spike judging that its deliciousness rivaled only her blood.

"So ripe…so warm…," Spike's adoration was muffled in his refusal to abandon the succulent treasure at his lips. The master vampire had tried to convince himself that his liaison with the slayer was all in the name of educating the young virgin in the ways of vampire seduction, but her fiery flesh, the warm cocktail that flowed into his mouth, the needy mewls and experimental lift of the slayer's hips against his face urged Spike on to bring Buffy the pleasure that only he was willing to give.

"Beautiful quim," Spike praised, delving into her juicy folds time and again, chuckling to himself as his actions left the inexperienced slayer grinding harder against the arch of his nose, seeking the friction she had not known she'd wanted.

Spike teased the young blonde even further, his tongue traveling down past her snug channel to the sensitive flesh below. His demon snickered as a surprised squeak escaped Buffy's mouth when Spike's tongue dipped to toy with the tight rosebud the young slayer had never imagined as a pleasurable place. Strong, pale fingers kneaded the suddenly-bunched muscles as Spike lapped at the fresh arousal running down to meet his tongue. Even in her nervousness, Buffy's body could not deny the devilish sensations Spike was creating.

The slayer's taut body ached—ached for friction…ached for filling, and her plaintive whimpers grew louder when Spike returned to play in her folds, but satisfaction remained just out of reach.

Even in his superior knowledge, Spike wanted to Buffy to act like the slayer in bed as well as the graveyard. He wanted her to demand satisfaction, to gain confidence; and if he got the pleasure of keeping that blissful release out of her grasp for a few moments—then all the better.

"What do you need, Slayer?" Spike queried between long, teasing licks of Buffy's nether lips.

"I don't…I don't know, Spike," Buffy nearly sobbed, Spike batting away the tiny hands that tried to clasp her needy button.

"Yes, you do…Show me, Buffy," Spike insisted as his tongue drew a taunting arch against the fleshy ridge of Buffy's cleft, knowing damn well that the withheld friction would drive her to distraction.

"Gah!" Buffy exclaimed, forcefully gripping at the peroxide curls between her legs and grinding her aching clit against Spike's naughty tongue.

"There's my good girl," Spike cooed, giving the distended pearl long licks of his cool tongue.

"Quit talking and suck my clit, dammit!" the slayer demanded.

"Yes, m'am," Spike joked, causing Buffy's grip to tighten on his hair, the accommodating vampire suckling rhythmically on the tiny knot of nerves. Feeling one hand free itself from his scalp, Spike smiled as her unoccupied hand loosened one of his from her thrusting hip and guided it underneath her angled thighs. Spike rewarded the demanding blonde by slipping a finger in her needy passage.

"Oh…yeah…," Buffy acknowledged with groans of pleasure, her hips instinctively rising and falling to hungrily feast on Spike's invading digit.

Spike's cock strained against the soft, cotton sheets, impossibly hard and threatening to spill untouched on the slayer's virginal bed. Her snug channel clutched at his finger, and the blonde vampire could only imagine how his dick would feel inside that powerful, little body.

"More, Spike…please," Buffy called, sincerely wishing at this moment that Angel didn't know she was a virgin.

Spike hummed greedily against her engorged pearl as he slipped in a second finger inside her snug, slickened box. He was gratified as the eager slayer fucked herself harder against his digits. Ready to watch the ball of fire fly apart, Spike curved his fingers upward, revealing to Buffy exactly what her G-spot was there for.

Buffy's pent-up need shimmered from her like the distortion of heat rising off desert sand. Spike slipped in a third finger, leaving his pinky to toy at her back entrance. Buffy's panting breaths began to grow short, and the force of her thrusts threatened Spike's undoing. His questing fingers nearly mocked him as he prodded against the thin membrane that Angel was meant to strip away.

"Spike…,' Buffy panted in anticipation, "*Spike*," she repeated in emphasis.

Her invocation spurred Spike to let a fang drop and slip into the puffy flesh that guarded Buffy's straining clit. As the small pull of blood coupled with the sweet juices of her sex on Spike's tongue, the sound of his name echoed off the slayer's bedroom walls.

"SPIKE!" Buffy screamed in her pleasure, colors flashing behind the eyes screwed tight in overwhelming release.

Spike's thumb drew out the electrical storm that emanated from Buffy's core, his tongue momentarily abandoning her blood to lap at the rich wine that poured from her pulsing cunt. His tongue eagerly stroked the walls that pulsed around him. Some errant but profound part of the blonde vampire would have been willing to betray his ripe, wicked plum and play in the slayer's sunshine all night.

He slid his fingers in gently again to help soothe the needy ache as Buffy's tight walls sought for purchase against something solid and hard. With a feline grace, his cool tongue licked at the tangy spending s that had escaped his tongue, mentally chastising himself for such blasphemy. When he felt the pulses slow and her nerve endings shudder from an overdose of stimulation, Spike pulled out his coated fingers, giving each long, sumptuous licks, as a child would a popsicle, Buffy watching in fascination as Spike reveled in her spendings.

With a chuckling smile, watching the myriad of thoughts and emotions play across the young slayer's face, Spike began his slow ascent back up Buffy's body, again mapping her body with kisses en route. The young slayer's sensitized flesh puckered in goosebumps at the light kisses, Buffy trying to suppress a girlish giggle as the white curls came nearer her flaxen ones.

A shocked and muffled groan issued from the petite blonde's throat when Spike reached her mouth, still open to take in great gulps of breath. For a moment, he let his weight settle against Buffy's own, his rock-hard cock nestled against the still-pulsing lips below.

Spike planted a hungry kiss on Buffy's unsuspecting mouth, allowing her to taste her own juices still lingering on his lips.

Before tonight, the thought of tasting her own spendings would've caused Buffy to scrunch her nose and turn away in disgust—but, now, in the heat haze of her tremendous orgasm, Buffy licked greedily at Spike's lips, plunging her tongue into the cool cavern of his mouth that tasted of tobacco and whiskey coupled with her blood and her sex.

Spike silently crowed at the slayer's enthusiasm, and hoped that her inhibitions would remain on hiatus for a while longer, yet.

"So…did I change your mind about mouths in naughty places, Slayer…?" Spike grinned and cajoled like a wicked boy wanting pie before supper.

"Maybe…," Buffy teased with school-girl charm. Her breath hitched at the feel of Spike's stiff member sliding rhythmically against her sensitive cleft. While her trepidation was still acute, Buffy was at least wondering what it would be like…how Spike's cock would feel in her mouth…what would happen when he came….

Spike could very nearly hear all the silent questions rolling around in the slayer's head. While his vampiric tendency would typically prod him to belittle and taunt his nemesis in her inexperience and trepidation, the master vampire reigned in his nastier inclinations—not only would he miss his chance at luring Angelus away from Drusilla, but he would also miss out on teaching the slayer all the wickedly wonderful ways of the world…well…some of them, at least.

"I'd like to give it a try," Buffy broke Spike out of reverie.

"Come again?"

Buffy blushed in the dimly lit room, nervously repeating her answer.

"A blow job," she said with anxiety-laced determination. "I'd like to try and give you a blow job," she baldly declared.

Spike's eyes twinkled as his grin spread broadly across his face.

"And I would *love* to be the bloke that you practice on," Spike chuckled, flipping them over with lightning speed.

"Wha—," Buffy, furrowed her brow in confusion.

"So you can be in control, luv," Spike explained Buffy's dominant positioning. "Explore all you want…plenty of time…only take as much as you like," the blonde vampire coaxed, smoothing Buffy's honeyed locks behind her ear as she lay on top of him. While this odd tutorial was a test of the vampire's patience, Spike knew that, one way or another, only good could come out of his graciousness.

"You'll let me know when you…," Buffy hedged, biting her lip and glancing away, a little fearful of the fateful moment.

"As any gentleman would do," Spike insisted, which was met with a quirked eyebrow from Buffy.

"I promise," Spike assured, trailing his fingers along the curves of Buffy's bronzed back. "Nothin' to be afraid of, pet."

"Ok…," Buffy whispered, her wide green eyes meeting Spike's ethereal blue.

Grinning broadly, Spike fisted his hand in Buffy's silky hair, capturing her mouth in a ravenous kiss, both tongues twining round each other until Buffy gasped for air, the warmth of her panting breaths heating Spike's pale flesh as Buffy turned to nibble at the tender curve behind Spike's ear.

"You'll tell me what you like…," Buffy breathed out.

"Yes…," Spike groaned in return, Buffy nibbling and suckling down the corded muscles of his throat.

The young slayer was emboldened by Spike's response to her mere kisses, wondering at the colorful invectives he might use when she finally reached the proud, jutting member that was currently prodding at her belly.

Closing her eyes, even in the intimate presence of the master vampire, Buffy suckled at the unmarked side of Spike's neck, causing the blonde vampire to writhe and buck with every nip and nibble. Her confidence growing, she grinned mischievously, teasing Spike with rougher bites, until she inadvertently tasted blood and could hear the crunch of bone as it began to shift, Spike fighting his instinct.

"Buffy…," the blonde vampire moaned in warning.

"Sorry…," she whispered, smiling as she moved further down Spike's body. He had quelled the transformation that Buffy had begun through her biting play.

"No…don't be…," Spike breathed out as he stroked his cool fingers down the length of Buffy's pulse, having relished the attention at his neck even at the risk of vamping out.

When Buffy came to the flat bronze coin of a nipple, she flicked the tip of her tongue experimentally, which was rewarded with a hiss of unnecessary indrawn breath and a thrust of eager hips. Spurred on, Buffy toyed the tender skin between her teeth.

"Suck them a little," Spike encouraged, tangling her golden locks in his pale fingers.

Buffy pursed her lips tightly, pulling at the tiny nub of flesh, causing the vampire underneath her to gasp in pleasure. Treating its mate to the same attentions, Buffy feared that Spike might come even before she had a chance to get near his dick.

Snaking her way down Spike's tight, muscular torso, Buffy tongued a trail down the vampire's rigid abdomen, stopping for a little teasing when she dipped inside his ticklish belly button.

"Slayer…," Spike chuckled, squirming a little at her special brand of torture.

Buffy giggled a little as she traveled further down, Spike's abdomen rippling as Buffy's lips inched ever lower.

Buffy's fingers met a thatch of dark, tight curls, as Spike's rigid cock slid down the soft line of Buffy's jaw. Full lips turned to graze along that firm shaft of flesh, tongue darting out to lave the blonde vampire's aching member.

"Ah…yes, pet…that's it…," Spike sighed as Buffy began to explore his needy flesh, her pouting mouth tenderly caressing the velvet skin that wrapped the steel inside.

The intrepid slayer gave the long, thick shaft popsicle licks, receiving murmurs of praise and encouragement with every attentive pass. Mapping every ridge and vein, the slight curve of his impressive length, Buffy considered the thick column that prodded at her fantasies, wondering how Spike's cock would feel inside her.

Having ministered to every inch of Spike's length, the curious slayer slid back the foreskin, revealing the swollen peak and its glistening tip. Buffy's tongue circled the rigid head, eliciting pleased gasps from Spike as she swiped her tongue along the underside of the sensitive crown.

"Wicked little tongue…," Spike praised as Buffy sparked his needy flesh. Her right hand that had rested at the root clasped around the thick member, grasping Spike's eager cock. She began to jerk his cock with rapid, forceful strokes like she had seen in some cheesy teenage comedy, only to feel Spike's hand gently wrap around her tiny one, slowing her pace a bit and directing her rhythm.

"Just like that, kitten…."

Once Buffy's right hand was around his turgid shaft, and her lips and tongue still worshipped at his cool length, Spike gently guided her left hand to his sac.

"No slayer strength on the jewels, though," Spike gently teased as Buffy caressed the full globes.

Her lilting giggle reverberated as she hummed across Spike's flesh.

Clear, slick pearls eddied at the tip of Spike's cock, ready to spread their cool slickness down his hungry length.

"Taste me…," Spike urged.

Buffy's tongue circled upward to dip inside the slit and indulge in the clear, salty fluid. Swirling her tongue as though licking an ice cream, Buffy made broad swipes against the plum-colored head, gathering all the slick essence of Spike on her tongue.

Spike had tried to remain passive and patient, but the sweeps and curls of Buffy's tongue were driving him to distraction. Desperate for more contact, Spike's pleas echoed off the bedroom walls.

"Take me in your mouth…please, Buffy," Spike wailed, his hips rising to seek greater contact.

Without hesitation, Buffy thrust the column of cool flesh into the warm cavern of her mouth, bringing forth a lust-filled moan from Spike's throat. Buffy's hands continued to massage his needy flesh, as her mouth suckled and pulled at the rigid cock.

"Oh…your sweet, beautiful mouth," Spike praised, pale hands wrapped in double-fistfuls of hair.

"Pouty lips wrapped around my cock…."

Spike's lascivious words, which normally would have repelled the young blonde, now instead encouraged her, driving Buffy to make Spike lose all sense of control.

Buffy dove deeper with every explicit outburst from the peroxide vampire, full lips meeting her small fist on every downward stroke. Attentive hands massaged tight balls, traveled back to pleasurable flesh, even curious fingers traced the cleft between taut buttocks, making her companion moan and writhe.

With every plunge and pull of her eager mouth, Buffy tried to take more of Spike's impressive length, the young blonde never being one to turn down a challenge. In her eagerness to master Spike's lessons, her throat rebelled as Buffy tried to reach even further.

"Easy, pet…just relax and swallow…," Spike guided gently, though he inwardly crowed at Buffy's determination.

Heeding Spike's instructions, Buffy contracted her throat around nearly all of Spike's rigid size, quickly gauging by Spike's reaction that her slayer strength was useful for more than just fighting. Every muscle of Spike's body was taut, lungs sucking in great gasps of unneeded air, hips thrusting upward, despite his best intentions.

"Christ, Buffy!" Spike shouted, his body wound tight, like a spiraled coil.

Buffy's wet mouth painted the flesh between her lips with warm slickness, her silky blonde hair falling like a curtain over the vampire's belly and thighs. She let her teeth graze gently against his pale flesh, measuring her efforts by Spike's vehement praise.

"Fucking me with your mouth…," Spike groaned, meeting Buffy's hot cavern with his eager cock, until the delicious pressure building throughout his body reached its breaking point.

After a few more deep pulls of Buffy's mouth, her cheeks hollowed in enthusiastic force, Spike groaned out the words he promised her.

"God, Slayer!" Spike called out, his muscles tensed and his balls drawn tightly to his body. "Buffy…I'm coming…."

Spike tried to hold off long enough for Buffy to relinquish her position, but the determined young blonde's pouting lips grazed coarse, dark curls, her throat rippling around Spike's ready cock as she gently squeezed the taut sac beneath.

"Buffy…luv…," Spike called in a strained, panting warning before shouting his release in a string of appreciative curses and flooding Buffy's mouth with ropes of his cool spendings. Buffy swallowed down the salty mouthful, determined to fulfill her task as expertly as possible, tending to the needy flesh as Spike's cock pulsed in her tight, hot mouth.

Just as Buffy released Spike's spent member and took a deep breath to fill her lungs, the initiate found herself pinned underneath the vampire's weight, Spike's forehead touching her own as they panted in synchronous gasps.

"Spike…?" Buffy question nervously. His cool cock hardened again almost instantly, and had slipped through yet another pair of wet, slick lips. The tender, pink flesh caressed the insistent member, though opening ever so graciously as the swollen head toyed at Buffy's entrance, sliding forward only an inch or so.

"Spike…we shouldn't…," Buffy gently admonished, her voice full of longing and regret.

"Wasn't goin' to, luv…," Spike kept his eyes screwed shut, trying harder than ever to control his impulses and his hunger. "Just a little…that's all…," the blonde vampire opened his eyes and smiled down at Buffy, his muscles flexing almost imperceptibly as just the swollen knob nudged inside her heated passage, before sliding back again. "Knew you'd feel amazing…," Spike confirmed as a strained whisper escaped his lips.

Buffy's passage ached to feel the full length of Spike inside her, to have that luscious, thick member finding those places buried deep inside and setting her on fire with its delicious friction. She was so very nearly ready t say 'Fuck it all,' let Dru have Angel if she wanted him so damn bad, and stake the both of them if she had to. The slayer's pulse rang loudly in her ears as her throbbing channel sought purchase against the guest that was knocking but would not come in.

Spike watched the hungry green eyes beneath him as Buffy responded to his unexpected intrusion. He felt her muscles tense…her heart rate increase…and for a moment he feared that he may have pushed things too far in his lust-addled haze and would be finding himself on the wrong end of the stake hidden under her pillow.

But then, Buffy's scent filled the warm, night air once more. The slight rhythm of her body lightly grinding against his faltered as her thrust deepened just a bit more.

"We can't, luv...," Spike choked out, betraying his body's desires as he stilled their hips, though holding his position for a moment longer. "It's gotta' be perfect for him…, yeah?" Spike whispered the bitter truth before taking a resigned breath, placing a gentle kiss to Buffy's forehead, and rolling onto his back, pulling Buffy to rest on his chest.

"I guess so," Buffy mumbled against Spike's chest, a little sniffle escaping at the fresh memories of Angel's betrayal and rejection. Once, she could think of nothing but giving her virginity to Angel, how absolutely ideal it would be, but after seeing him with Drusilla that night, her anticipation gave way to resignation, wondering how she would be able to love him again.

Catching the tinge of salt that colored the air, Spike quickly brought Buffy's face up from his chest, "Oh…kitten…no…," he brushed the hair away from Buffy's distraught face, soothing her with eager kisses. "Peaches doesn't come close to deserving you, pet," Spike said with a grin, draping Buffy's right leg across his abdomen as she lay on her side.

Buffy wryly chuckled in agreement, her melancholy broken by Spike's attentive hand snaking down the cleft of her ass. Smiling, Buffy agreed with Spike's estimation of Angel.

"You're right—he doesn't deserve me," the petite slayer snarked, grinding playfully against Spike's hip bone. Though logically understanding why she and Spike couldn't take things any further, her body had stopped listening to her brain much earlier that night. The thrill of making Spike lose control, of getting just a taste of that hard cock inside her had churned her desire once again.

Spike was glad to see Buffy's mood lift again though he groaned inwardly at the feel of her wet heat once more. He knew he had left her wanting, much to his regret. His fingers dipped down, drawing light playful paths at her swollen nether lips.

"But then again…I don't deserve you either, pet," Spike crooned sultrily, his fingers slipping through to tease at Buffy's hungry entrance.

"No…?" Buffy questioned breathily, grinding against Spike's hip bone as his finger slipped further inside.

Spike shook his head slightly though he wore a leering smile, deciding there was no reason to end such a lovely night on a grim note.

"I'm a bad, rude man, luv…but at least I admit it," Spike grinned, slipping another finger inside, making Buffy gasp.

The slender fingers that had been absently toying with a flat nipple slid down to the jutting cock below, Spike groaning in pleasure at her touch.

"I guess you do," Buffy's huskily concurred as her wet channel molded to Spike's fingers. Her grip tightened around Spike's cock, her thigh brushing against his balls with each roll of her hips.

Still astonished that her mortal enemy (or immortal, as the case may be) could be naked in her bed, fingers buried deep inside her, Buffy wondered at the bizarre change in their relationship.

"So…what's going to happen when we meet in the cemetery…or some dark alley…and you're about to start snacking on the good citizens of Sunnydale?" Buffy posed the very pertinent question, though made no move to extract herself from Spike's attentive hands.

"I expect we'll fight, luv," Spike grinned offhandedly as his fingers pumped languidly into her slick channel.

"Really?" Buffy grinned, a mixture of amusement and surprise on her face. "Even after all this?"

"Oh, Slayer…I'd never want to give that up," he replied avidly. "Get off on fightin' with you, pet."

"Yeah?" Buffy panted, her hand sliding against velvety skin as she ground her wet heat against his hard, pale body.

"But then…after we put on a good show for everyone," Spike predicted in a low, husky drawl, trailing kisses down the length of Buffy's tender neck. "I'd lure you away…find some dark corner where nobody would think to look…," Spike continued as Buffy arched her back in hopeful anticipation. "Unbutton your blouse…unsnap your bra…" his mouth traveled down from the delicate bones of her throat to the rise of softened flesh and thrumming beat.

"Reach up under that short little skirt…"

Spike continued to finger Buffy with long slow strokes that she matched with her own.

"Pull down those tiny panties you like to wear…"

Spike was rewarded with a fresh rush of Buffy's arousal coating his fingers.

"And make you really glad you couldn't stake me," Spike captured Buffy's left nipple in his mouth, sucking voraciously as his fingers thrust deeply inside, Buffy matching Spike's attentive rhythm with her own.

The fangs that pierced Buffy's tender nipple magnified her orgasm ten-fold, and the heated blood that Spike drank contrasted sharply with the cool seed that coated her hand and his belly. Buffy panted as she allowed Spike to nurse for a few moments longer before recovering her senses and wrenching him away with her fist clutching his peroxide curls.

"Sorry, pet," Spike pouted like a wounded puppy dog, his forehead smoothing and eyes returning to their usual luminous blue. "You did take away my happy meal, after all," he teased, faulting his fantasy.

"You're a pig, Spike" Buffy automatically accused, though softened by the roll of her eyes and the slight shaking of her head, as he lapped at the small wounds.

"But do I at least get to keep the toy surprise?" he waggled his eyebrows and playfully suckled at the untended breast, nibbling at the nipple with blunt teeth.

"Not unless you want Mr. Pointy for dessert," Buffy snarked, provoking Spike to promptly pin Buffy beneath him, tickling her unmercifully with deft fingers and playful nibbles.

"What—no teeny, tiny ice cream? Cute little curlicue at the top?" Spike bit and nipped from Buffy's neck to the tip of a breast, making her squirm and writhe as she laughed.

"Huh-uh," she denied, teasingly trying to wriggle out of Spike's grasp.

"Cookie?" he bargained.

"No," Buffy replied flatly, trying to scoot further up the pillows, leaving Spike lasciviously between her legs.

"Cherry pie?' he queried, dropping his voice to a lusty growl.

"You wish," Buffy cocked an eyebrow, grinning at the blonde vampire between her thighs.

"You'd better believe it, Goldilocks," Spike countered, delivering a wet kiss right between her thighs.

"No way, Big Bad…" Buffy put on her resolve face and rolled away from Spike before he could start *that* again, because unlike a certain peroxide vampire, *she* didn't have the luxury of sleeping the day away.

"Now there you go—mixing your metaphors."

Buffy turned over onto her stomach, hiding her more intriguing bits from Spike, lest he talk her into another round of "tutoring."

"Nope—not me—Buffy and metaphors—definitely unmixy," Buffy's horrible pun trailing off in a gasp as Spike crawled on top of her, playfully pinning her face down against the bed.

"What about Buffy and showers, then? Are they unmixy as well?" Spike crooned low in her ear, his hard cock nestled snugly in the cleft of Buffy's bottom as he tempted with the watery diversion.

"No—Buffy and showers are very mixy. Buffy, showers and Spike—not so much."

"Aww-come on, Slayer…we've got to," Spike pouted, wriggling against her even further.

"And why is that?" Buffy challenged as she looked over her shoulder, smiling.

Spike stilled, his weight still pressed deliciously against Buffy's body, his forehead coming to rest against the back of her shoulder in the moments before he could answer.

"Because I'm covered in you, Buffy…."

ooooooo

So on Revello Drive, the vampire slayer and her nemesis showered together, Spike finally talking Buffy into one more mutual orgasm before he had to leave, making good use of the vanilla bath gel and detachable shower massage. But Buffy drew the line when Spike threatened to call Sunnydale High and excuse Buffy Summers as her 'daddy' needed her at home that day.

The two blondes spent their remaining moments tempting and teasing, cracking dirty jokes and washing dirty places. Neither wanted to be reminded of the reason Spike came to the slayer's window that night…that every morning now, Dru reeked of Angel's blood and sex…that his dark princess was probably on her knees for her 'daddy' at that very moment…that the security of Angel's soul grew more tenuous as the pixies' voices grew louder in Drusilla's head.

Spike tucked a yawning Buffy back into bed, the sleepy slayer grumbling in agreement when Spike reminded her to change the sheets before she left for school. Raking the wet hair away from her face with his fingers, Spike growled low in his throat when he thought what Buffy would have to do to lure Angel away from Drusilla. He sighed heavily when he considered Drusilla's vengeance when Buffy did. Spike could feel the dawn approaching , and knew that he must leave and return to the factory, else wind up scattered in the morning breeze. He thought briefly of hunting for a "Buffy-approved" meal, but he was well-satisfied from the few mouthfuls of slayer blood he had taken and wryly figured that Drusilla had already "been fed" by his poofter of a grandsire.

He sat down on the edge of her bed to slide his boots back on, and bending over to straighten his jeans once more, found a grungy but beloved stuffed pig on the floor.

Spike couldn't help but notice that it smelled distinctly like Buffy. Chuckling quietly to himself, he brought the animal to his face and breathed deeply, and was fascinated at how the layers of Buffy were embedded in this dime-store acquisition.

He could scent the years of talcum and tearless shampoo…

Could discern sputtered kool-aid and peanut-buttered fingers…

Could note when her body began to change, hormones and glands crafting a heady cocktail that no junior high boy could ignore…

And then when she was called as the chosen one…beaten…torn…bitten…in the graveyards every night…sometimes at his own hand…

The smell of copper…and iron…from her blood, no doubt…

Then salt tears…shed for…an absent father…?

No…too fresh, he realized

His grandsire, perhaps?

'Bastard doesn't deserve them', Spike sighed to himself.

And lastly…that little hint of vanilla that she wore so sweetly.

Spike chuckled at the fact that he, too, smelled faintly of the confectionary scent, and that he probably ought to find an open grave to roll around in before returning home.

He could just say that he fought the slayer, and picked up her scent as they wrestled on the ground.

'Then again,' he scoffed, 'what good does it do to lie when you're living with a clairvoyant?'

Dismissing any certain retribution as nothing worse than he'd experienced before, Spike again eyed the decrepit pig, picking off a free-loading dust bunny and fluffing up the matted hair under its chin, Spike tucked the pig under Buffy's arm, the sleeping slayer snuggling into the favorite animal. Spike smiled sadly as he stroked her hair once more.

Leaning down, Spike kissed Buffy on the cheek, whispering, "Sweet dreams, Slayer," before climbing out her window, landing with feline grace to the ground below, and taking off for the west, trying to outrun the first light of morning.

ooooooooo


End file.
